


Champ

by Hysteriumredux



Category: DC Comics, pulps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-13 12:41:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21494473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hysteriumredux/pseuds/Hysteriumredux
Summary: Pulp-type novel set in 1934 Burlington, Vermont, of an early Mystery Man. Back in 1939 Lev Gleason Comics featured a character called the Wasp, created and drawn by Arthur Pinajian. It was an unsuccessful attempt to cash in on the popular radio show The Green Hornet, but the Wasp only survived 2 issues. Gone and forgotten, now in the public domain. This is a ‘pulp style’ novel about the now forgotten character but it touches on a lot of odd social, economic, historical and personal issues. Hope that you enjoy it. Comments and critiques are welcome.





	1. Sound Advice

CHAMP

1\. Sound Advice 

The newsboy was yelling his guts out. “Extra! Extra! Read all about it! The big storeeeeey! Moon Man robs social gala in Hartford! Police vow to capture masked criminal! Read all about it! The big storeeeeey!”

“I’ll take one.”

I tossed the kid his coin and opened the paper. Front page news in bold cap. Very nice.

Jason grinned. “Your handiwork, Mr. Slade?”

“Well, my by-line anyway. Mostly a lot of phone calls and a lot of ‘no comments’. If this Moon Man character’s not caught soon I’ll probably get sent down there to get some first-hand impressions. This lunatic’s making the Hartford P.D. look like the Keystone Cops.”

“So what’s he doing with all his ill-gotten gains?”

“No idea. It’s odd, the guy had a perfect opportunity to grab a lot of high-end jewelry from the women there but limited himself to the cash on hand instead.”

“Maybe he didn’t want the hassle of trying to fence it?”

I shrugged “Maybe…but his thefts are well planned so the guy has to have patience. Definitely not impulsive. Even if he has to ship the loot to a fence in New York City or Boston to get a decent price it wouldn’t be that difficult for him.”

“A time factor? He can’t afford to wait for a fence to move the hot merchandise?”

“Maybe, or maybe he prefers to deal in cash, doesn’t trust the banks.”

“Can’t really blame him. Would you trust them?”

Jason was right. Ever since the Great Crash of ‘29 nobody trusted the banks with good reason. Over 9,000 of them had failed in the last three years. Hell, most folks didn’t have anything left to put in a bank anyway. Times were tough.

It was early Sunday evening and Jason and I had just exited the Flynn Theater on Main Street. Built only a couple of years ago the Flynn was now the new center for the arts, the pride of downtown Burlington, Vermont. We’d been watching a revival of an old Alexandre Bisson play that appealed to the newsman in me….the extreme lengths that people will go to in trying to cover up a scandal. I’d encountered more than my share of attempts in real life and doubtless I’d encounter many more with time. 

Human nature doesn’t change.

Jason was in a good mood with a bounce in his step. We’d both been busy with our jobs and hadn’t seen each other in a couple of weeks. When we met last night we’d tried to make up for lost time and had gotten pretty occupied, almost missing today’s matinee performance. Jason was hoping for a little more private time with me but I still had one more job on my dance card. Needs must.

“Slade?” A voice called out.

I turned to see my editor and his wife approaching from the lakefront. Henry and Phyllis must have gone down to watch the setting sun on Lake Champlain before dining out. That’s right, this was their wedding anniversary, wasn’t it? I had to give the woman credit, the Lord knows that Henry was a hard man to put up with. A hard boss, a worse husband.

“Mr. Wilson?” Jason and I paused, waiting politely for the couple.

“Burton, what brings you here? Just catch the afternoon show?”

“Ayuh, we did. Can’t review it if you don’t view it first. Oh, this is Jason Ward, an old friend. Jason, meet Henry and Phyllis Wilson. Henry’s my boss, the editor of the Daily Press.”

They nodded to each other politely. Folks around here don’t make a lot of fuss in public. 

Phyllis eyed Jason in appreciation, he cut a fine figure. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ward. Oh, there’s Margie across the street. I need to talk to her about next week’s church dinner. Henry, do you mind?”

“Not at all, dear. I’ll be waiting over here. Just be sure to reserve our places at the same table as usual.”

As she scurried across the street Henry turned to us. “So, how’d you two fellows like the play? Did Richard Stanton live up to his old reputation? I saw him perform once in New York City back around ‘25. One of George Bernard Shaw’s plays…'Major Barbara'.” 

I nodded recognizing it but Jason was unfamiliar with the work. “'Major Barbara'? Was that something about military life? Not a subject that I’d associate with George Bernard Shaw.”

Henry chuckled. “Not a typical major. The lead character was a woman major in the Salvation Army, the daughter of a merchant of death.”

At Jay’s puzzled look I explained. “In the play her father was a munitions manufacturer who was donating money to the Salvation Army for their ministry. The daughter considered it blood money and didn’t want to accept it. It was a play about ethics.”

“That and pride, forgiveness, the temperance movement, the women’s suffrage movement and other progressive issues. Typical Shaw.” Wilson added. “The man has some good points in it but it was too preachy, which undermined his intended message. Of course, that play would be a bit dated now anyway given the Nineteenth Amendment, but it was part of the long struggle for women’s rights. Change doesn’t come easy.”

“And not every change is for the better but that one certainly was. When you read about what Mussolini and Chancellor Hitler are doing over in Europe even as we speak.” Jason shook his head sadly.

Wilson snorted. “El Duce’s fascists are a real threat to the world but Adolph Hitler’s just small potatoes, a poor imitation. President Von Hindenburg will keep him in check. Unlike the Italians, the Germans are far too rational to follow a blatant fascist.”

“I hope that you’re right but I’m glad I’m not a Jew in Germany right now.”

“Dark times.” I added.

“Amen. So, Mr. Ward, you a local boy?”

“I am now. I’m from hill country up north originally. My folks go back to the Revolutionary War but not much has changed up there since. Still no running water or electricity, let alone indoor toilets. Got tired of being so close to nature and got a job in Tully’s Tool and Die in Winooski. Worked there a couple of years until the Crash of ’29. The business folded within a year and I’m been trying to scratch by ever since then. I still officially reside in Winooski but I’m out on the road a lot. Have to go where the work is.”

“Salesman?”

“Auctioneer. What with all the farms and manufacturers folding up there’s no lack of business for selling, but there’s a dearth of buyers. Hard times. I first have to inventory all the livestock or equipment before each auction so it’s pretty labor intensive even before the auction begins. I’m lucky to get back to Winooski twice a month but at least I’ve got work. More than most people have nowadays.”

“What’s your take on the foreclosures and all? You’ve probably got a broader view of the consequences than we have here in Burlington.” 

“People everywhere are hurting but it’s worse in the towns and cities. Most of the farmers are dirt-poor anyway, so they’re used to living hand to mouth. They’re better equipped to weather it out but that’s not possible in the towns. There’s no fall back jobs when the factories or quarries close down so the unemployment is worse in the towns and there’s no way to escape. It’s not like there are jobs elsewhere that you can move to. The whole state’s down the crapper.”

“The whole nation.” Wilson corrected. “According to the reports half the population of Oklahoma has packed up and headed west looking for work. Desperate men. And the latest report is that the dust storms are now covering over twenty five states. We’re just lucky that we’re so far north that the storms have missed us.”

“Ayuh, we just have to deal with the normal snow storms. Another couple of months or so and we’ll be buried under six feet again.”

“Comes with the territory.” Wilson was looking at Jay speculatively. Shoot, Jay was togged to the bricks, cutting a fine figure for a man seeing a movie with an old buddy, wasn’t he? More spiffed up like somebody out on a date. Damn, I hope that Henry doesn’t pick up on that.

“So, Jason, may I call you Jason?”

“Don’t see why not, sir. It’s what my folks named me.”

“Jason, you’ve got a pleasant speaking voice and as an auctioneer I assume that you can talk quickly and clearly when required, correct?”

Jason shrugged. “Well, it goes with the job. I might be considered a bit slow compared to somebody from New York City but I can hold my own mostly. I get by.”

“You ever consider a career in radio?”

“What?” I blurted.

Jason blinked in surprise. “In radio? Heck, I don’t even _ own_ a radio. Why would I want to work in radio?”

“Lots of reasons. The pay’s decent, the hours are regular and you don’t have to travel long distances. You work out of a recording studio so you can sleep in your own bed each night instead of God knows where? It’s a better job.” 

Jason and I looked at each other blankly. What?

Wilson leaned in grinning. “Here’s the thing. The Daily Press has bought WCAX, our local radio station, from the University so I’m trying to figure out a way to make it profitable. I’m flying blind but I’ve some interesting notions. You follow me?”

We nodded mutely.

“Well, the University of Vermont was running it like it was an extension service of the school…heck, it was being staffed by the school’s Radio Club, enthused Joe College amateurs. The programs were mostly the faculty in educational talks, agriculture talks, health talks, literary talks and sometimes even entertainment talks and plays, like it was some kind of Radio Chautauqua! Sometimes music from the school band or the Glee Clubs, reports of the sports teams and amateur singing auditions by students. They called it ‘educational and entertainment service’.”

“And you want to change that?”

“Damned right I do! Education is fine when you have a full belly but right now folks are hurting. What they need right now is something to distract them from their troubles …escapism. Once the economy picks up again we can go back to serious educational programming but right now we need the radio equivalent of vaudeville, fun programming to distract people from their pain. And a means to finance it without taxpayer help, of course. That means commercial advertising and that’s where you’d come in.” Wilson gestured at Jason.

“Me? How am I supposed to do that?”

“As an announcer. You’ve got a pure Vermont accent and manner, nothing hoity toity about it. Folks hate being talked down to by some Abercrombie. And you can speak clearly and quickly and if you can sound like an auctioneer all the better! Especially now, folks are used to hearing that kind of fast patter.”

Jason didn’t answer, trying to sort out Wilson’s reasoning. 

“Think about it! No need to answer right now. Shoot, Phyllis wants me so I need to get over there. Slade, I’ll see you tomorrow. I expect the play review and that interview of Stanton by noon at the latest.”

“Yes sir. You’ll have it.”

“Good! And on that note, goodnight gentlemen.” He quickly waddled across the street to join his wife. 

“Well, that was an interesting experience. And you work for him?”

“Yeah, he can be a pill but it’s a living. Let’s grab a drink at Ruggs to kill some time. I still need to interview Stanton tonight and we’re meeting in an hour.”


	2. The Play's the Thing

2\. The Play's the Thing

A few minutes later Jason and I were in T. Ruggs Tavern on the corner of North and Elmwood, up on the second floor. 

Still a bit early for the dinner crowd so we had some privacy. Grinning, I tried to flirt with Jay. “So Mr. Ward, as a shining example of Vermont’s man in the street and the yeoman in the sticks, what’s your response to the play? How’d you like it? If nothing else, Stanton had a nice set of gams.”

Jason paused, taking the question seriously. He could be a bit oblivious at times. “Honestly? I was very impressed. I thought that Stanton did a remarkable job portraying Madame X. If I didn’t know better I’d have never guessed that she was a he.”

“Yeah, he did great. Of course it would have been easier to just hire a decent actress instead of a male but casting Stanton in the role was a clever publicity stunt. Otto was hoping that it would bring in some of the Philistines. Guess not.” 

“How did Otto ever persuade him to accept that odd role?”

“That was the easy part. They’re old friends and did several plays together on the London stage back in the day. Stanton was very successful but retired from the stage when the stock market collapsed. He was trying to live quietly in retirement when his four year old daughter was kidnapped about three years ago. Just before the Lindberg kidnapping.”

“Cripes! What happened?”

“The daughter was never found, still on the books as an ongoing investigation but you know how that is. All the police resources got focused on the Lindberg case and by the time they finally reopened the Stanton investigation the trail was long cold.”

“How are the parents handling it?” 

“Richard’s wife fell apart and she died a few months ago. Officially it was an accidental overdose of sleeping pills but it was probably suicide. She’s been profoundly depressed and had begun seeing a psychic trying to locate her little girl. No luck. After he buried his wife Richard also became depressive so his friends pressured him to take this gig as a means of getting him out of the house. Maybe the change of scenery will help him.”

“God, I hope it works. That poor bastard. Still, it was an odd role choice for him, wasn’t it?”

“Actually no. Stanton was an extraordinary actor and performed a lot of Shakespeare in England. Back when the Bard was alive all the roles were played by males. Women weren’t allowed on the stage so young boys took on the female roles. Stanton originally started playing the female roles as a publicity stunt but discovered he had a real gift for it. Had lots of admirers, both male and female. Probably broke a lot of hearts before he settled down.”

“That was Shakespeare, this is Alexandre Bisson. That’s a pretty big leap.”

“Not really. Stanton became well known for playing both sexes, sometimes portraying two different roles in the same play! And he used to perform ’Madame X’ as a one person play on stage, with him playing all the varied roles. A real tour-de-force. He was a quick change artist who could switch roles effortlessly. An extraordinarily talented man. His early retirement was a great loss to the theater.”

“Perhaps this will encourage him to revive his career?”

“One hopes. Would you care to meet him personally? I have the interview scheduled with him over at the diner and I’m sure that he won’t object to your presence. He’s used to an audience.”

“Sure, if it’s okay with Mr. Stanton. A wise man answers when opportunity knocks.”

\---

Richard Stanton was a small wiry man with a big presence. Stage presence, they call it. He was dressed sharp in one of those fancy new double-breasted dark blazers and an ascot with his blond hair combed back using a pomade, a picture of elegance. All he needed to complete the Dapper Dan look was a mustache but that would have ruined his Madame X role so he was smoking an expensive looking pipe instead. He stood out like a sore thumb in the Majestic Diner but still looked comfortable sitting among the rubes. 

No pretensions though. His smile looked genuine when Sally brought his meatloaf special. Of course the class act went right out the window when he dove into his dinner like he hadn’t eaten for days. Jason and I grinned at each other….actors, they can't help themselves. After he finished wolfing down his meal he had Sally refill his coffee cup and then sat back for my interview.

“Gentleman, you have my undivided attention. Ask away.” 

“First off, thank you for agreeing to the interview. I’m sure that our readership will appreciate your appearance here in Burlington. That said, I’m really sorry for the poor attendance, Mr. Stanton. I thought that your performance in the play was truly exceptional.”

Stanton shrugged. “Hard to compete with Bing Crosby.”

Jay looked confused. What did the crooner have to do with a French play?

I explained. “Kitty Carlisle, Bing Crosby, and Miriam Hopkins are now appearing down in Bennington this week and it looks like most of the regulars, the local theater audience, headed down there to catch them. Yeah, a lot of people want entertainment, not serious drama.”

Stanton sighed. “I’m not insulted. I’m a bit rusty so perhaps it’s for the best. Just bad timing in the theater scheduling but the show must go on.”

“Very professional of you.”

“Well I am, or at least I was, a professional. Now I’m just spinning my wheels. Otto suggested that I extend my stay in Burlington after the play’s run. See the sights. I’ve heard about the colorful New England fall foliage for years but have never actually seen it. Always too busy but I don’t have that excuse anymore, do I? So I might be underfoot for a while, do some hiking.”

“Well, if you’re trying to get away from it all we’re a good choice. There’s not a lot here but our beautiful countryside. I’m city folk but Jason here knows the country like the back of his hand. He can advise you on the best sights.”

Jason nodded solemnly. “Ayuh, hope you like sheep cause we’ve got a passel of them about.”

Stanton responded in an identical accent. “Ayuh, fine to look at, even better to eat.”

They both grinned. Stanton smirked. “Give me a few of days with you and they’ll be taking me for a native son.”

“Ayuh.”

Stanton turned to me. “I may also have some possible local business. Mr. Slade, are you familiar with Fred Harris or Fred Garey?”

“Fred and Fred? I am, sir. They have this odd pipe-dream that Vermont has the potential for a commercial ski industry similar to the set-ups in Europe. They’re convinced that folks will pay their hard-earned money for the opportunity of lugging their skis up the mountainside and then skiing down them again as a recreation. Crazy idea. It’s much too much work dragging the skis up the mountain to appeal to anyone but an exercise fanatic. Not very realistic.”

“You ever ski yourself?”

“Never had the pleasure. I’ve been to Europe but I was too busy with the war for any skiing. I hear that it’s popular in the Alps but folks there are very different from Americans. They like to hike and bike and climb mountains for the fun of it but folks here in Vermont prefer to save their energy. I can’t see skiing ever becoming a success here.” 

“Ah, that’s useful to know but their dream may not be quite as crazy as you might think. The two Freds have a business proposal they wish to discuss with me. Something they call a ‘tow-bar’ that would carry the skier up the mountainside, thus conserving their energy until they ski back down again. That device would make a world of difference.”

“So you’ve been talking to them? In all fairness the Freds are both straight shooters. I haven’t heard anything negative about them except that they’re both dreamers. We generally prefer more practical folk around here.”

“Be as it may, it’s the dreamers that change the world, sometimes for the better, sometimes not. I have a luncheon date scheduled with the Freds tomorrow and they’re hoping that I might invest in their business venture.”

“And will you?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll certainly listen to their business proposal and consider it but I need to see the details first and I’ll need the hard numbers.”

“Well, if you find yourself investing please let me know. We’re always interested in covering any local news.”

Jay nudged me. “Your interview?”

Oh, right. “Getting back to the interview..what challenges do you find as a male portraying a female and how do you see the character? In other words, what do you bring to the interpretation of Madame X that might differ from an actress playing that role?”

Stanton turned somber. “She’s not just a mother, she’s an archtype and represents the grief of any parent, female or male, who is separated from their child. The pain, the wondering, the regrets. Any parent can relate to it. What would you not do to protect your child, whatever the cost to yourself. If only…….?”

His voice trailed off as he stared blankly at the table. Shoot, he wasn’t just talking about the play, was he?

From the look Jason gave me he was thinking the same thing. Damn, this is going to be a difficult piece to write up for public consumption.


	3. In the News

3\. In the News 

The next couple of weeks seemed to fly by. 

On the local scene the big concern was the upcoming harvest. The Crash of ’29 hadn’t just impacted Wall Street, banks, businesses and manufactures. The agricultural sector had also collapsed and the local famers were hurting. Food prices were low but so was the current income and things looked bleak. The only saving grace was that most Vermonters still had recognizable farms rather than dry dustbowls. We could still produce food for ourselves even if the export trade had declined. 

Wilson’s recent lakeside promenade led to another Daily Press campaign to prettify the lake shore. Right now Ward 1 along the lakefront was mostly the old rail yards, piers, warehouses and lumberyards. Back before the Civil War the lakefront had been the second biggest lumber yard in the entire world. A lot of trees met their demise there but that was a long time ago. Maybe the area had once been bustling a center of commerce but after the industries shifted to the MidWest the lakeside area had gone to seed. Wilson was correct that a new park along the lake would be a vast civic improvement but nobody wanted to pay for it. We’re thrifty folk and times were tight. 

Jason had already committed himself for several more auctions so he was still busy doing inventories for them but he stopped adding any new ones to his calendar. Since he was self-employed it wasn’t a problem and it kept his options open if the radio thing didn’t pan out. Nowadays only a fool burned all his bridges behind him. 

Meanwhile Henry Wilson had begun implementing his new plan for the radio station, slowly shifting the programs on WCBX from the academic lecturing to stuff with more appeal to the masses, ’popular programming’ as he called it. Most folks have a hard time dealing with sudden change so Wilson was careful to keep it incremental, giving the audience time to adjust and spread the word as he carefully tested the wireless waters. Vermonters aren’t given to drama.

He began by subtly shifting the more academic content to subjects that were more practical and useful to the average listener, replacing abstract academic subjects such as studies of ‘The War of the Roses’ with a new popular series on ‘The Constitution of the United States’. The new series detailed each Constitutional Amendment and then examined the historical, social and legal implications of that Amendment in American history. Ironically the series was a big hit but mostly confined to the newer immigrants. Few of the old Yankees bothered themselves with boring details like that.

Wilson found this dismissal frustrating as he considered accurate information to be the best preparation for an informed citizenry, and the best defense against the blandishments of European fascism. A proper citizen had both rights and responsibilities but the uninformed were easy marks for a shrewd demagogue.

When he suggested broadcasting some actors performing the old play ‘Our American Cousin’ the listening audience wasn’t interested until Wilson noted that the play was the same one that Abraham Lincoln had been watching at Ford’s Theater when he was assassinated by John Wilkes Booth. After that statement everyone had a ghoulish reason to hear the play, which then led to a discussion on the radio about the issues behind the Civil War and the aftermath. The power and propaganda of the Ku Klux Klan had been growing nationally and Wilson wanted to set the record straight. Regiments from Vermont had fought in the war against the Confederacy but that was a long time ago. Most folks in Burlington had never even seen a Negro, let alone thought about them. 

It was a good lesson in what they now call marketing, the way that you advertise a product to make it appeal to people. 

The easiest immediate success was in the music selections. The old programming was either the college glee clubs or highbrow music with limited appeal to the average Joe so Wilson began playing more songs by popular artists, tunes like ‘Minnie the Moocher’ or that new hit ‘On the Good Ship Lollipop’. This was stuff an untrained voice could sing easy and was upbeat. Some of the mellow big band music too like the Benny Goodman’s Orchestra but none of that new ‘swing’ music…that style was too unsettling for Vermont sensibilities.

Wilson also began shifting the talk format, with less lecturing and more news of the day. Jason began pushing the local news with his dry Yankee delivery, keeping it understated the way Vermonters preferred. It was amusing listening to Walter Winchell broadcasting with his rat-a-tat fast delivery from New York City and then hearing Jason’s slower local news which sounded more like some of the old-timers hanging out on the front porch of the local store. A lot of the stations in the Midwest were trying to incite people, get them angry and worked up and easy to lead in a mob but Wilson wanted to avoid that kind of rabble rousing. He wanted WCBX to be the radio version of comfort food, polite but real discussion on a level you could understand, not empty sloganeering and ugly nativism.

There was still some grumbling, of course, particularly from the more intellectual types but most of those types lived up on the hill near the university or in places with urban amenities so they could get the academic information elsewhere if necessary. And they had circles of like-minded friends available for challenging conversations. 

The so-called working class, in contrast, appreciated the changes and the new popular format, especially since a lot of them weren’t actually working right now. The bread lines were long and the unemployment remained high.

And the farmers and the like? A lot of them didn’t even have electricity anyway so they never noticed one way or the other. They just hunkered down silently struggling to eke out a living, the way that they’d always done.

There was a lot of wild talk down in Washington about setting up federal programs to employ the jobless but so far that’s all it was, just talk. Our politicians love the sound of their own voices but don’t have much of a work ethic and most of them were the in the pockets of big business. People might be starving but the jobless masses were good for big business. It guaranteed that desperate labor was cheap and easily replaced. 

FDR was trying to change that but was being blocked on every front by the fat cats. The problems were so big that only the federal government would be able to muster the resources but that meant that Washington would become more intrusive. 

Americans pride themselves on their self-reliance, even if it means that they starve if they fail but nobody had ever imagined a national depression on this scale. The usual means of softening the pain were now exhausted and it was beyond the means of any individuals or church groups. Only the government could handle it and the notion of federal intervention terrified a lot of folks. 

Trying to enforce Prohibition had eroded public trust of federal agencies with their idiotic crusade against demon rum. All the Volstead Act had done was foster a thriving underground economy in bootlegging and had inadvertently created the powerful criminal mobs that now flourished in every major American city. One can’t deny basic human nature by force. It was classical unintended consequences and Main Street was now skeptical that Washington could protect it from Wall Street without Washington becoming the next oppressor.

One major proposal was setting up national power grids and getting electricity to every small town and farm in the country but it’d cost a fortune to create that infrastructure. In the Midwest the problem was the vast distances….the areas were mostly flat but people were spread out all over the place. Here in Vermont the distances weren’t that far as the crow flies but the terrain was hilly. 

They don’t call Vermont the mountain state for nothing. 

I kept plugging away at my weekly column making my deadlines and reporting the news, local and national. Lots of local fairs, 4-H competitions, church dinners, parades and grange reports. I also had the Burlington crime beat but thankfully not a lot of crime to report lately. 

A double homicide in Ward 6 but that was an open and shut case…an outraged wife killing her cheating husband and his new patootie. The cops had lucked out with that one as the locals there were notorious for not cooperating with outside authorities. Six was the south side where most of the factories were located and the French-Canadian workers there all lived crammed in company housing. The workers preferred to use the company run stores and had little interaction with the rest of the town. The ward might as well have been a separate country for the lack of civic participation.

Ever since the repeal of Prohibition the local crime rate had dropped and the biggest recent news about crime was when ‘America’s most wanted criminal’, Mr. John Dillinger, was killed outside a theater in Chicago in a shoot-out with the police and FBI. Dillinger had begun as a common bank robber but in the popular imagination he had become a modern day Robin Hood, a heroic figure standing up against the forces grinding down the little guys. In these hard times folks desperately needed heroes so they’d remade him into one. Good for our bottom line, as Dillinger’s exploits had sold a lot of newspapers.

The days of the big shoot-outs with the bootlegger gangs now seemed to be yesterday’s news. With the repeal of Prohibition the mobs had begun shifting into other less obvious crimes and trying to keep themselves out of the public eye, like Alphonse Capone’s attempt to take over the dairy industry. It might have worked but Capone had come up with this crazy idea to put expiration dates on the milk cartons to make sure there’d be quick turnover of his product. That got him national attention.

Capone’s conviction in 1932 had been a lesson in the dangers of living large in the spotlight. Crime still paid, but it paid best when away from public scrutiny.

When there was a shoot out nowadays there was usually one of the mystery men involved somehow. Those vigilante types were lone wolves and relied on firepower to compensate for their lack of manpower.

One can get used to almost anything with enough time and the public was becoming inured to its own suffering. There was the usual tussle among the local groups but overall not much change. Most folks were conservative and afraid of bucking the trends. Change would have to come from outside and the serious criticism was reserved for the distant figures in Washington and the constant fighting between FDR, Congress and the Supreme Court frustrated everybody. 

Why can’t the politicians just do something like they were supposed to?


	4. Zeitgeist?

4\. Zeitgeist? 

A lot of my current news stories were on the dust storms in the Mid-West or on various fires, train wrecks and other disasters around the country….events that were sadly noted and then quickly forgotten as the next disaster took over the headlines. Local news was a lot less dramatic and the announcement that the Athena Club ladies would be hosting a reading of Mrs. Gaskell’s novel 'Crawford' at their next monthly meeting or that the Chin-Chins would be discussing English madrigals didn’t sell many newspapers. 

The biggest recent national disaster was the fire on the ship Morro Castle off the New Jersey coast, a news event with more staying power than most. The aftermath continued to command headlines for days with new odd revelations emerging almost daily. 

One day Henry Wilson called me into his office to butt heads. He liked to use me as a sounding board to polish his arguments for his next editorial. I usually gave as good as I got and several of his better columns were the by-blows of our discussions. 

“Okay Burton, you’re a professional. Tell me, why does the Morro Castle fire still dominate the news?”

I paused, considering the question. “Uh, over 50 bodies so far, at least another 50 people still missing, presumed dead? They’re not even sure how many were aboard the ship before the fire started so they may never know exactly how many victims? Hundreds of injured. Dereliction of duty? A crew that abandoned their ship leaving the passengers trapped to fend for themselves and die? You name it. Pretty much anything that could go wrong did go wrong.”

“The old saw ‘when it bleeds, it leads’?”

“Sure. It may be ghoulish but it’s true. Disaster sells. And the Morro Castle is the proverbial train wreck that you can’t look away from. They say it’s the New Jersey version of the Titantic and they’ll still be talking about the disaster a century from now.”

“Fat chance. The old Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire back in 1911 was just as big but it’s now long forgotten. People will forget all about the Titanic too, and the Morro Castle disaster will doubtless prompt some new regulations to try to avoid a repeat of the fire but that’s it. It’ll fade from the public memory fast.”

“You think so?”

‘I know so.” Wilson was dismissive. “Yes, the high body count is important but outside of the immediate families of the victims most people will forget about it fast. The public has a short memory. The most important thing about the Morro Castle fire is the mystery behind it! How did the fire start? The odd coincidence of the captain dying suddenly like that the night before the fire? Was it murder or bad luck? Why the delay in radioing for help? Why did the fire spread so quickly? Who’s to blame? Tragedy sells. You’re right, when it bleeds it leads. The sensation, the drama? That rush won’t last long but the mystery? It’s the gift that keeps on giving.”

“Maybe? But that’s only true only until the next tragedy occurs. You know, if I submitted a string of clichés like that to you in one of my own columns you’d be howling about my poor writing ability.”

He smiled crookedly. “Touché. But the fact is it sells a lot of papers. Correct? The fourth estate is having a field day speculating about it. Yes, the fire was a tragedy, but was it just an accident or was it something more sinister?”

“Not just the fourth estate, chief. You should hear some of the talk on the radio out of New York City and New Jersey. There’s rumors going around that one of those Mystery Men was somehow involved in the disaster. Allegations of something crooked going on onboard and that the ship’s passengers got caught in the crossfire.” 

“Mystery men? Like that Mocker fellow with the creepy laugh on the radio?”

I chuckled. “Yeah, but that one’s just some two-bit actor in a recording studio. But there are real ones out there that you don’t hear about, the ones who are the real McCoys.”

“Don’t hear about? Like that headline shy vigilante Gangbuster?”

“Okay, he’s probably the most notorious example, the exception to the rule. The guy’s a relentless glory hound and craves the public attention but he’s already been cleared of suspicion in the Morro Castle fire. Gangbuster would be the most obvious suspect but he was tied down in a firefight with Danny O’Leary’s mob in Philly at the time of the ship disaster, an ironclad alibi. But there are other less well known examples and a lot of them work for the other side, like the Jester, Fantomas, The Moon Man and the Yellow Claw. Lots of possible suspects.

Wilson shook his head. “Maybe I’m getting old but I have a hard time dealing with all these characters in costumes nowadays. It was so much easier dealing with Alphonse Capone, John Dillinger, Parker and Barrow and the like. At least their crimes made sense, more or less. I don’t understand what motivates these new weirdos?”

”Professor Solomon Alteberg over at the university claims that it’s the zeitgeist.”

“The what?”

“Zeitgeist. It’s a term in German philosophy. It means ‘the spirit of the times’. Its…ah…it’s the thing that defines a period of time, like the term ‘Roaring Twenties’ defined the last decade, or the term ‘Great Slump’ now defines us in the press.”

“This is more than just a slump. I just read a book calling it the ‘Great Depression’. Author claimed that it’s the result of unbridled capitalism. Too much credit extension. A bust was inevitable after the boom of the 20’s."

“‘Great Depression?’…yeah, that is a better name. We need to start using that term in the newspaper. Who was the author?”

“Fellow named Josephson, mostly writes about French literature.”

“He’s wasting his time with that French stuff. He’s got the gift. Anyway, Professor Alteberg says that we now live in the ‘Age of Mystery Men’ and that Al Capone was the catalyst for the phenomena. The G-men couldn’t nail him for all his murders and bootlegging but the government got him for tax evasion and milk racketeering instead. The feds can nail anyone given enough time. It’s just a matter of finding the right angle to prosecute, like Mussolini does in Italy with his critics. But if the police can’t even identify you properly then they can’t very well prosecute you. Hence, all the new mystery villains.”

“And every action has a corresponding reaction, I suppose?”

“Exactly! Gangbuster, the Green Lama and the other mystery do-gooders are the response to them, fighting fire with fire. It’s not exactly a new concept. Back before the Civil War there was a character called the Fox in California when it was still part of Spain. They made that movie about him with Douglas Fairbanks playing the role. And there’s that Machiste fellow in Italy who’s now pimping for Mussolini. That one’s been around for decades. But before modern media it was mostly local problems and local responses so outsiders never heard of them. Now with modern radio and the press more people know about them and it inspires others to try to copy them. It’s the latest fad but it won’t last.” 

“You think not?” Wilson was doing his Socratic method again, trying to draw out where I was going with this. He could be a hard boiled egg but he was a good interviewer. 

“Nah. These things come and go. Didn’t you once drive around with a racoon tail on your flivver? Wore it with pride. Nowadays having one of those would be downright embarrassing. Someday the mystery men will be like your old racoon tail, long gone and best forgotten.” 

“Maybe so but right now they’re a problem. One man’s mystery is another man’s headache. Democracy needs transparency, not all these secretive conspiracies of anarchists, fascists, communists, capitalists, socialists, thugs and warmongers. And the secretive heroes fighting them are not the solution…we are. That’s where we come in…shining a light on these tawdry little groups and their tawdry little secrets.”

“Preaching to the choir, boss. The topic of your next editorial?”

He grunted. “All right, let’s call it a night. I’ve got dinner and the missus waiting for me at home. What about you?”

“Nothing special. Maybe a couple of drinks over at The Village Green. Maybe I’ll get lucky and pick up a lead for my next story. There are some interesting rumors floating around.”

“Such as?”

“Nothing substantive yet but you’ll be the first to know if anything pans out.” 

“You work too hard. Good night, Slade.”

“Good night boss. Give my regards to Phyllis.”


End file.
